


Cycles

by UltraSwagnus



Category: leaving blank for personal reasons
Genre: F/M, Frottage, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Fingering (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraSwagnus/pseuds/UltraSwagnus
Summary: big seeker lady fucks her twink secretary
Kudos: 15





	Cycles

Crowbar whined as his fingers slipped between the folds of his valve. It was an easy insertion, one that felt as hungry and achy as his spark. The pair of digits went in as far as they could go, pushing into the hot, wet mesh that lined his walls. Crowbar sighed as he curled his fingers to press against some internal sensors. What would have normally drawn a sigh of pleasure brought out one of frustration. 

Crowbar was suffering. He had experienced heat cycles before, but none had ever been as severe as this. The constant arousal with no relief was almost unbearable.

He pulled his fingers out of himself, allowing a decent amount of his personal lubricant to flow outward between his inner thighs and pool onto his berth. He sighed again, knowing of the mess he’d have to clean before going into work.

* * *

Airstrike sat on the large examination table inside one of Torque’s hospital rooms. Her face was scrunched in pain as the medic looked over her results on the monitor.

“Well, Ms. Airstrike. You’re as fit as a fiddle,” he said, his tone filled with perplexity. “But there’s one thing that’s a little off from yer results.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” 

She sounded annoyed, which he couldn’t blame her for. She had come in complaining of a horrible migraine, one that had been ailing her for several days now.

“Yer brain module is showin’ signs of duress,” the tractor said. His eyes squinted as he skimmed over the computer screen again. Upon closer inspection of the data, he noticed something that he had only read in medical texts. “Oh..”

“What is it?” the security chief asked.

“Well, uh..” Torque paused for a moment, figuring out the right way to phrase this. “Pardon me for askin’ such a personal question, but do you have breeding inhibitor software?”

“You’re right, that _ is _ a personal question,” she replied. “But to answer your question...yes.”

“I see,” Torque sighed.

“Do you think that’s what’s causing the migraines?”

“I’m not rulin’ it out,” the doctor answered back. “Depends on how long you’ve had it in ya.”

“Since before the war started,” she confessed.

Torque’s jaw almost hit the floor at what she had just said.

“Are you even havin’ regular heat cycles??”

His tone was worrying.

“Yes,” she sighed, a wave of pain from her helm subsiding briefly.

“That’s good to hear,” he began, “but havin’ such a strong inhibitor online for such a long time concerns me.”

“Let me guess. You want me to deactivate it.”

“That would be my first suggestion. And if that doesn’t help with the migraines then I’ll have to run some more tests.”

Airstrike didn’t like the sound of this. Heat cycles she could handle, but a breeding cycle? There was a reason she had that inhibitor software installed.

“You look worried,” her physician observed aloud. “Don’t be.”

“You’re not a Seeker,” Airstrike stated. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Well,” Torque sighed, “Y’er right. But I do know that Seeker breeding cycles don’t last very long, so I think you’ll be fine,” he assured. “Unless someone at the office is on _their_ heat cycle, then you might need medical leave if things get too much for you to handle.”

“If that happens I’ll learn to deal with it,” she said. “One way or another.”

* * *

Crowbar sat as his desk fuming. Everyone and everything was pissing him off. Even the email that had been sent to him from Airstrike saying that she would be late coming in that morning due to a doctor’s appointment. His shift had started not too long ago but he already wanted to go home. For Primus’ sake, he almost threw a datapad at Scooter...

But in came Airstrike. She greeted those she saw as she made her way to her private office. When she approached Crowbar’s desk, however, she said nothing. Not a “good morning, Crowbar,” or “hello, Crowbar,” or even a “get back to work, Crowbar.”

Without warning, his optics began to lubricate. He cursed himself and his heat cycle before excusing himself to the restroom to collect himself. Why did he have to get so emotional..?

Airstrike, on the other hand, sat in her office chair with her face buried in her hands.

“Of all mechs, why did it have to be _ Crowbar? _” she asked herself frustratedly. She had smelled the scent of someone in heat as soon as she entered the building, and it only got stronger as she got closer to the office. Immediately, her breeding protocols had turned online.

_ She desired him and him only. _

It was painful the way her spike pressed against her inner array plating just from the lingering scent of his arousal. It was maddening. Like she had told Torque, she would figure out some way to deal with this predicament.

* * *

Crowbar had returned from his trip to the restroom and had almost gotten comfortable in his seat when Airstrike had poked her head out of her office and asked him if he had a second. If he was being honest with himself, he had more than just a second if it meant a quick frag in her lap. 

Embarrassed by having such a thought about his superior officer, he got up and went inside, deciding to keep optic contact to a minimum. The last thing he wanted was to look right into her optics while thinking about how she could easily overpower him. His anterior node pulsed excitedly underneath his modesty plates as he briefly entertained such an idea, closing the door behind him and sitting in front of the red jet.

“Crowbar,” she began.

Even just hearing her say his name was enough to make his valve start to lubricate again. The motorcycle bit the inside of his lower lip slightly as he felt the fluid trickle out of him and into his array. 

..He hoped that it wouldn’t leak through his seams.

Airstrike hoped that as well, as she could already smell it. It was intoxicating and it was driving her wild. The seeker didn’t think it was possible, but her spike pressurized even further. She gritted her denta. She could only imagine how wet and inviting Crowbar’s valve must be. 

“..It has come to my attention that you might not be feeling well.”

Crowbar didn’t answer. He was too busy watching her talons scrape against the top of her desk, thinking about how her hands were large enough to wrap around his throat while she fragged him mercilessly against the wall, or any surface, really.

Oh, this thought excited him quite a lot. 

His array system pinged him, requesting access to open. He denied it. He could feel his personal lubricant collecting inside of his panty plates. The last thing he wanted to do was make a mess of himself in front of her.

Airstrike had to turn on her cooling fans on its lowest, quietest setting as Crowbar’s scent grew stronger. Her innate Seeker urges were berating her for not having already taken him as her mate.

“I think you should take a few days off,” she said. “I’ll have Scooter cover for you while you’re on sick leave.”

Suddenly, he realized what was being said to him. He repressed his thoughts about Airstrike and his current condition to formulate his reply.

It didn’t take long.

“I’m _ fine_,” he said sternly. He could tell that he was having another shift in his mood.

Airstrike could tell as well, and figured a good spiking would suffice to knock out that attitude of his.

“This is nonnegotiable, Crowbar,” she replied just as sternly, if not more. “You’re becoming a distraction for some of the staff.”

_ “Who?!” _ he asked, his tone angry with a side of needy desperation.

Finding herself just as irritated and frustrated as the emotional frequency of his vocalizer output, she blurted an honest answer.

_ “Me.” _

At the sound of the admission, Crowbar was ready and willing to drop to all fours and bear himself to her. But his mood forbade it, and it was getting the better of him in the moment.

“Then maybe _you_ should do something about it instead of sending _me_ away,” he snapped, realizing what he had said only moments after he had said it.

“Don’t you _dare_ challenge my authority, Crowbar..!” she spat, optics furrowed and fangs bared. She rose from her chair, asserting herself and leaning over her desk, clawed servos supporting her weight on the desktop. _“Do I make myself clear?”_

Crowbar’s sudden mood swing disintegrated at the sight of her large frame looming over him. He opened his mouth to reply, but his array opened and replied faster. Lubricant spilled between his legs and onto the floor below him. They locked optics as the scent of it filled the atmosphere of Airstrike’s office, with Crowbar’s facial plating burning redder than Airstrike’s paint job.

“Get on top of my desk..._ now.” _

* * *

Airstrike had her servos gripped around Crowbar’s thighs as she spread and pinned them down onto her desk. He was a wet mess. Liquid pink was glossed between his legs, and it smelled so good to her.

Crowbar let out a sharp gasp as he felt her larger glossa make contact. He couldn’t control the high pitched moans as the seeker moved her tongue between his folds and over them. Airstrike made low growls in her throat as she did this. 

_ He tasted just as good as he smelled. _

But the possessiveness of her Seeker nature began to take over as she buried her face between his thighs. Airstrike began sucking hard on his anterior node, stroking the tip of her tongue around it. She even went so far as to nibble it gently and scrape her canines against it. Crowbar moaned deeply with every sensation.

“Oh, _ god_, yes…” Crowbar sighed. _ “Frag me_, Airstrike…!” he blurted. She gave a throaty laugh, chuckling as she moved her glossa down to the opening of the motorcycle’s valve and slipped it inside, but only enough to stretch the opening. She was teasing him out of spite. A proper punishment for his backtalk from earlier, she told herself.

Crowbar tried to move his hip joints as she began alternating between penetrating him with her tongue and sucking hard on his node and opening. His frame felt weak. He was helpless to her administration. He could only lie there, completely at her mercy, taking what she decided to give.

But his request hadn’t fallen on offlined audio receptors.

Airstrike released her stiff length under the desk. Already, pre-fluid had oozed out of the tip and began its journey down the shaft.

The jet released her grip on Crowbar's thighs and rose from her seat. The smaller mech looked up to see the spike that would impale him. His optics grew wide and his valve dripped at the sight.

“Don’t get too excited,” she chastised, “You’re not getting it just yet.”

Crowbar’s mouth began to pout slightly, but was immediately forced agape as she slid her middle digit deep into his channel. He didn’t have time to react as it was already removed from him and pushed back in. The back of his helm hit the top of her desk with a _ thunk_.

“By the _ Matrix_, you’re so _ tight_..” she sighed, creating a song of squelches with her motions. Crowbar blushed at her words and the sounds being made from below his waistline. “I’m going to need another finger.”

With her next removal, she added the digit, easing it into his valve. She gently flexed her fingers, stretching the constrictive lining until she was satisfied that she could continue without hurting him. She pushed the pair in and curled them slightly upon exit, causing Crowbar to shout.

“THERE!! _ THERE!! _” he sobbed.

Airstrike’s spike twitched over Crowbar’s leg. He was being such a needy thing.. Regardless, she put her fingers back inside of him and began to rub over his ceiling node with her thumb. As if he wasn’t lubricated enough, his valve lining only got wetter. Her optics blinked and she saw a flash of motion beneath her. Crowbar’s arms had darted to her’s, and he gripped at her wrist joint, moaning without restraint. The metallic mesh of his channel’s lining, despite Airstrike’s effort to stretch him out, began to tighten around her flexing fingers.

“Getting close, are we?” she teased. 

She was one to talk, with her spike drooling over her secretary’s thigh.

Crowbar whimpered. His own fingers scraped against the topcoat of her wrist kibbling as his overload approached the edge and toppled over it. His hip joints jerked as the overload took him, and he groaned out tearful thank yous.

Airstrike grinned a fang-toothed grin at the state of him. Her intake could drown a mech with the amount of oral solvent it had produced during the course of their escapade. But introspection was quick to catch up to her, as she became suddenly aware that she had been frotting against him.

Her breeding protocols demanded that it was _ her turn_. 

Crowbar panted weakly as his climax came to an end. When he looked up, he saw Airstrike standing before him still, her very pressurized spike standing tall between his legs. Despite just having an overload, his sensors still wanted more.

“A-Airstrike,” he said in a hushed voice, sounding more desperate than he would have preferred. But before he could get another word out, Airstrike had already begun lining herself up to him.

“Crowbar, if I don’t spike you right now I’m going to go crazy,” she admitted. She couldn’t take it anymore. She was cracking. Her Seeker nature was breaking her resolve. “...I need to _ breed _ with you.”

Suddenly, anything Crowbar would have said became obsolete. He looked at her face. Her fangs weren’t showing, and she looked more like the Airstrike he had known. Her face was flushed, and when she spoke she sounded….defeated. It made his spark ache a little.

But his array was onlining tenfold at the admission.

“You’re not a carrier are you?” she asked, breaking apart the tracks of his train of thought.

“..N-No, I’m not,” he replied, blushing at the thought. The thought of being one of Cybertron’s chosen to continue the race’s existence.. 

“Good,” she said back. “Now, if you’re ready, I’d like to continue.”

Crowbar nodded silently, reclining himself back onto her desktop.

She placed her hands around his waist and tilted his frame at an angle that would be better for the both of them. With as pliant and aroused as her secretary was, she would be able to insert herself fully into him in one easy motion.

Airstrike rubbed herself against the opening of his valve, hoping to bring their minds back to the task at hand and not dwelling on the brief, yet awkward exchange. It didn’t take long, as Crowbar was already ooo-ing and ah-ing at her large spike being ground against his anterior node. The breeding software had alerted her that foreplay was over, and without any warning, she penetrated Crowbar.

Crowbar arched and bent his back strut almost to the point of snapping. His vocalizer was rendered useless as she pulled out and reinserted. As the cycle of motions continued, his optics rolled in their sockets and he tried to speak words that had no sound. He only made unintelligible whines. Airstrike was giving him the best fragging he had ever had in his life.

Finally, his vocalizer and brain module had coordinated enough for him to say something.

_ “Oh, Airstrike!! Airstrike..!! A-Ahhh!! ♥” _

The jet grunted as she continued to thrust into his climaxing port, listening to the way he sang out her name.

She could no longer contain herself.

Grabbing him tightly by the waist, Airstrike pulled him all the way over her spike, pressing the head deeper than any had gone into him before. The slight pain of having the opening of his valve stretched by the thick base of her spike was enough to break him out of the euphoric trance of his overload and realize what was happening. He let out a sharp cry as she sunk into him further.

Airstrike’s frame went rigid, and with a strangled shout, the jet shot out thick streaks of her transfluid into the channel. He gasped in surprise as the inner chamber of his valve quickly filled with liquid warmth. Panting heavily, fans spinning on their max setting, Airstrike gave one final thrust and held him firmly in place, allowing the last gush of fluid to fill her secretary.

**Author's Note:**

> .......maybe i'll add more to this (eye emoji)


End file.
